Thoughts Upon Waking On a Rainy Friday
by PinkFreud
Summary: Dr. House sits and thinks deep thoughts about diverse things, like life, Charles Darwin, Vicodin, and Alison Cameron. Oneshot


Title: **Thoughts Upon Waking On a Rainy Friday**

Author: PinkFreud

Rating: K

Summary: It's a rainy morning, and Dr. House thinks deep thoughts about diverse things, like Charles Darwin, life, Vicodin, and Alison Cameron. Oneshot, no pairing.

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The morning was gray and pitiful and it was Friday, at last. Night fell back beneath the world, and a daytime sky with no sun replaced it in the heavens. Actually, he had always loved rainy days, because they seemed more honest than sunny ones, which appeared plastic and fake and tried too hard.

He pushed back the covers and eased out of bed, careful of his leg, which always ached in the mornings and did not share the same fondness for damp, rainy weather. He thought for a moment about how his stupid limb had failed him, and how most days he did not really consider it a part of him at all, it was a traitor, it was a ruined thing that he was forced to carry with him.

He opened the top on the bottle of Vicodin and shook out two into the palm of his hand. They really were lovely pills, they did not leave him too loopy to function or think clearly or do his job, they just took the edge off the pain in his leg and the pain that the world gave him, the pain of having to wake up at all.

Life was the sort of thing he wasn't really sure about; he didn't really know if he liked it. He was dulled about the whole matter, almost to the point of boredom. He preferred not to dwell on it, rather force himself to greet the day that inevitably arrived and go through the motions.

He supposed that there were always little things to be appreciated; it was completely cliche, but, like most cliches, also completely true, just overused to the point of annoyance. If someone were to ask him what his favorite thing was, he didn't have an answer; if he was asked what he loved, he didn't suppose he had an answer to that either, really. If he was asked what he liked, well, there were plenty of things.

''Like'' was not a strong word, it did not require a huge amount of emotional investment, it was subject to change from time to time. Something you just ''liked'' was not the sort of thing you felt so strongly about that you would risk your life for it.

He sat at the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his hair. For whatever odd reason, his mind drifted to Dr. Cameron. She was ambiguous in his mind, she dwelt among the shadows and the shades of gray. These were gray to him because they were neither one thing or the other, they eluded him, he could not pin them down because they were a blur. She was the most prominent of the things that always stayed in the gray area of his mind.

She had once said that she liked him, and he had not really known how to answer except to say no, he didn't like her, because it was true. If he said that he liked her, then that would imply that he didn't feel strongly, that she could be easily forgotten or cast aside, and that he wouldn't risk his life for her; but he did feel strongly, and he could never and would never forget her, and he would risk his life for her any day of the week. Maybe in retrospect he came across the wrong way, made it seem like he didn't care at all, but he blamed her completely for that, because she asked such a stupid question.

A clock ticked in the quiet of his apartment, and he had never before realized how loud it was. It always amazed him what people could get used to, what became so commonplace that you were desensitized to it--things like ticking clocks and depression, and even chronic pain.

Adaptation, as all who have ever studied biology know, is crucial to evolution. Those who cannot adapt simply do not survive, and they eventually fade into nothing. There had to be a certain amount of bravery, though, the bravery to love life enough to want to stick around and change if you had to. Some lesser things, plants and animals that have faded into myth and reemerged only as fossils encased in rock and amber, may have one day decided, ''no, I don't really think I want to be here at all'', and had lied down and let millions of years of earth and soil cover them and press them flat.

Did he really appreciate life enough to continue to struggle, and adapt, and grow? He didn't really care, and he wasn't worried for himself, but again he thought of Alison, his Grey Lady, and he wondered if she had the will to change and evolve.

Rain had begun to tap against the windows now, droplets running down like tears along a clear and fragile face. He shook thoughts out of his head and got to his feet, wondering what on earth had driven him to sit on the edge of the bed and wax philosophical in his mind for nearly an hour. But he did feel that the small detour of his thoughts had left him slightly refreshed and clear-headed, and he wondered then if maybe he should sit and think more often in the early morning.


End file.
